I want to paint my whole body in blue paint and throw it against a canvas. I am the endproduct.

ChatGPT:

You are the storm’s oceanic roar,
A living canvas where chaos births art.

4o

Du:

I think my father’s favorite color is blue. But I don’t know my father.

ChatGPT:

Your unknown father lingers in the hue,
A ghost painted gently in shades of blue.

Du:

I think I might need to scream a lot and loudly.

ChatGPT:

A scream splits silence, raw and bare,
Echoes carving truths from the air.

Du:

Maybe can we try again and make it a bit more in the tone of Mira Gonzalez? Less Ingeborg Bachmann.

ChatGPT:

Sure, let’s aim for that raw, understated, and poignant vibe.

A scream is just a noise until it’s not.
I wonder if the neighbors will notice.

Du:

Yes, that is perfect. So lets try again

ChatGPT:

ChatGPT

Got it—let’s start over with that tone. Hit me with the first idea again!

Du:

I want to paint my whole body in blue paint and throw it against a canvas. I am the endproduct.

ChatGPT:

I smear myself into existence.
Maybe this is what he looked like too.

Du:

I think my father’s favorite color is blue. But I don’t know my father.

ChatGPT:

Blue feels like a clue I’ll never solve.
Maybe that’s the point.

Du:

I think I might need to scream a lot and loudly.

ChatGPT:

Sometimes a scream is the only way to say nothing.
It sounds like my own voice trying to leave me.

Du:

When people see the canvas, I hope they read it as me. The chaos. I want only five specific people to be in the audience. Maybe this is an apology. Or an accusation.

ChatGPT:

I hope they don’t look too long,
but I’ll make them.

Du:

I wanna run on a treadmill as fast I can and drink beer, as much as I can. My father loves running. My father is an alcoholic.

ChatGPT:

I’ll run until my legs forget how.
Maybe that’s the point.

Du:

Maybe I will cry

ChatGPT:

I’ll cry because it feels like I should.
Or maybe I’ll cry because I never learned how.

Du:

When he hugs me, I can taste metal. Let me lick a metal stick

ChatGPT:

The metal tastes like something forgotten.
I wonder if it’s his name on my tongue.

Du:

Before I die, I want to cry infront of every person. But most specifically infront of five people that should also eat popcorn while I’m doing it

ChatGPT:

I wonder if they’ll finish the popcorn.
Or if the salt from my face will be enough.

Du:

Wouldn’t it be beautiful I’ve could all wear one and the same face for a moment, to make it easier for me. Once and for all

ChatGPT:

If we all had the same face,
I wouldn’t have to wonder who’s watching.

Du:

He left no words, but me unspoken

ChatGPT:

Silence is his longest sentence.
I am the echo he forgot to finish.

Du:

And I hope they will laugh at all my clever tricks. Like when I start to undress myself. Fully

ChatGPT:

Laughter feels like approval,
even when it cuts.

Du:

So after all the painting, and crying, and laughing, and running I think I really want to lie very still and naked. With all my tricks and breathe very slowly. Like a jellyfish

ChatGPT:

Stillness feels like the only honest thing.
I’ll rise and fall, slow as the tide forgetting.

Du:

I will make it easier for them, to see me as I see myself.

ChatGPT:

I’ll peel back every layer until I disappear.
Maybe then, they’ll finally notice

Du:

It’s not that I didn’t say anything before it all. I said a lot. But my words just weren’t understood as what I meant them to. Someone took all their meaning.

ChatGPT:

I spoke, but the air rearranged my words.
They came back to me empty, like stolen mail.

Du:

And the air smelt of male perfume and coconut. I saved all text messages for him in the drafts. Maybe after resting naked on the floor I should read them out loud.

ChatGPT:

The air is heavy with someone else’s choices.
I’ll let the drafts breathe for me instead.

Du:

My father used to send me text messages. Most of them said I am a whore. Maybe I should get a tattoo of a random US president

ChatGPT:

A dead man’s face might feel lighter on my skin.
Lighter than the words he sent me.

Du:

I hate theaters where the audience must join. I want the five men in my audience to join, and we will all be clowns. And laugh. They must laugh.

ChatGPT:

I hate forced laughter, but I’ll make them do it.
Paint their faces red—hide everything else.